The Lady or the Tiger
by rynogeny
Summary: Hiatus fic, picking up at the end of the S8 finale. No spoilers, just one possibility for resolving the situation. Rated T for language.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: The title for this comes from the short story by the same name by Frank Stockton, about the implications of choice. Stockton's story is online, and well worth reading.

(Many thanks to my betas: Natesmama, some1tookmyname, readerjane, and Frankie707, and to LulaSan, who let me pick her brain about DNA.)

* * *

Brennan leaned against the wall, struggling to breathe. What had just happened? She wasn't fond of figures of speech, but it was not inaccurate to say that her world was upside down, as if immutable laws of nature were suddenly working backwards.

Booth didn't want to marry her. As long as she'd known him, she'd known marriage was important to him, and for two years, he'd been telling her she'd someday ask him, which she'd taken to mean he wanted to be married to _her_.

And now he'd said no.

No, that wasn't accurate. He'd said yes, and seemed happy. And then he'd changed his mind.

Shock and hurt struggled for dominance. But hurt required an understanding of what had happened, what it meant, and she didn't have that. But the basics were there: Booth didn't want to get married.

At least not to her.

She took a deep, steadying breath, and went upstairs, where she traded the bride's magazine for the Journal of Forensic Science. When life didn't make sense, science always did.

Downstairs, Booth waited until he heard her go upstairs. It was an old house, and despite his and Wendell's best efforts, the floors creaked in places. The pause, when she was just on the other side of the wall from him, was agony.

She'd stood there, mere feet away, when for all practical purposes, she might as well have been back in Indonesia.

He could fix this. He could write a single word, 'PELANT', on a piece of paper, and she'd immediately understand.

Two things stopped him. The first was that the little psycho was watching them. Watching every move they made, so far as Booth could tell. Angela said he was capable of hacking into any surveillance camera linked to the internet, and that appeared to be damn near everywhere.

Including their house. He'd removed the cameras he'd installed in their house - mostly for monitoring Christine - but since Pelant apparently felt free to come and go as it suited him, Booth couldn't afford to take the chance that he'd installed other devices.

The second was Pelant would be expecting tension between them, would be expecting things to be wrong. Could Booth risk lives on his and Brennan's ability to act as if they were broken when they weren't?

Shit. He rubbed his eyes. He was becoming as paranoid as Hodgins had ever been. His lip twisted. What was that old saying? It's not paranoia if they're really out to get you?

He was screwed, either way. He could tell Brennan, and they'd have to act, every moment of the day, as if he hadn't, knowing that people would die if they failed. Or he could hurt her, trusting that once they got the bastard, they'd be able to put their lives back together.

Rage rose and he beat it back. He was one of the world's best snipers because he understood that success required more than good aim. It took patience and emotional control while hunting.

And Booth was hunting now.

* * *

Calling the space in the basement of the Hoover building a conference room was an exaggeration, Cam thought. Although there were the requisite number of chairs, there was no table, and the boxes pushed off to the side shouted 'storage.'

The room was crowded, and she suspected that she wasn't the only one unsure of what was going on. Apart from herself, Brennan, Hodgins, and Angela, everyone else was FBI or, in Caroline's case, the Justice department: Sweets and Agents Flynn, Shaw, Sparling, and James.

Flynn was gaunt, and still restricted to desk duty, but it was good to see him back at work, Cam thought. Sparling was watching Sweets with a slight frown on her face, but the psychologist seemed unaware of her. In fact, he seemed uncharacteristically unaware of everyone. Brennan was listening to something Angela was saying to Caroline, but Cam couldn't shake the feeling that her attention wasn't really on the other women any more than Sweets' was on Sparling.

Booth stepped in and closed the door behind him with a soft click. He moved to the other end of the space, where a large flip board rested on a stand, before he spoke.

"Effective today, catching Christopher Pelant is our number one priority. We may work other cases, especially the squints, but stopping this bastard is job number one."

Unease slithered down Cam's spine. Booth looked…off. Exhausted and pissed, and yet somehow calm. The combination unnerved her. Something was very wrong here, something beyond even Pelant's latest attack on Sweets.

Shaw glanced around. "We're a task force, then?"

"Call it whatever you want. We're going back to the beginning, taking a fresh look at everything we have on him. Agent Flynn is on loan from the domestic terrorism division to help however he can from the desk while he recovers. No field work until the doc okays it," he added with a pointed look at Flynn. Turning to Shaw, Sparling and James, and said, "The rest of you are here because I trust you. This isn't a normal case, we don't work it in the usual fashion."

Before any of them could ask, he continued. "No computers. Nothing gets documented about the case online without discussion. Same holds with phones. Don't discuss the case over a phone unless directed to do so by me."

"I understand the ban, sir," said Shaw. "But why the possibility of an exception?"

Sweets stirred, and spoke. "Pelant needs to think he's in control. He also needs to be the center of attention. Not giving him anything will make him more dangerous."

"How do we communicate if we can't use phones or computers?" Sparling asked.

"In the old-fashioned way," Booth said dryly. "Write it down on paper. I'll coordinate between the bureau and the Jeffersonian. If and when it becomes necessary, we'll have more meetings here. This room isn't wired."

He picked up a marker, turned to the board behind him. "We need to find him and we need to build a case against him that can withstand his ability to reinvent his identity. Angela will continue to work the computer end of it." He wrote 'computers' on the board, followed by her name. "Anything you can give us that sheds light on his current location or environment, or shows us how to limit his access, we need."

He wrote the word 'family,' before turning back to them. "His grandfather is alive and was cooperative when we arrested Pelant for Carole Morrisey's death. We need to go back to that, find anything he has that will help us re-establish that Pelant is Pelant. He may not exist legally, but his family knows him."

Sweets seemed to come out of whatever fog he was in. "It's important that Pelant not know we're following up that angle. He'll kill his grandfather without a second thought."

"Good point. Next, we're going to go back over the house he lived in after he was released from prison. We went over it once, but we're going to make damn sure there's not something there, something that will give us a leg up on his current location. What does he need to do his computer mumbo jumbo?"

"I'd like to see that house," Angela said.

Booth nodded. "You and Sweets will go with the bureau team later today." He turned, wrote, "injured?" on the board. "Third, we're going to find out where he went after he was shot."

"We checked the clinics and hospitals, and none of them had seen him," Cam said.

"He went somewhere. He said my shooting him changed the game, and that wouldn't be true if I'd only scratched him. So we need to think about other places he might have gone. Were any drug stores broken into that night? Any clinics that aren't open over night?"

Silence fell as they absorbed that, then Hodgins asked, "What about us?"

"He's using our own lives against us: Ethan, your money, Sweets' research. It's a long shot, but try to look at your life the way a psycho would and see if there's anything he can use."

"He's already done that," Hodgins pointed out.

"Not with Angela."

Hodgins' eyes went flat, and he shifted his chair closer to his wife.

"He's using other people to kill now," Booth continued. "People he can easily manipulate. It's another long shot, but if you think of anyone from your past who would qualify, let me know."

"What about the money?" Caroline motioned toward Hodgins. "It went somewhere. Could we trace it?"

Angela shook her head. "I tried. He had it automated to move from one account to the other so fast that by the time I tracked even one fund, it was gone, the next account emptied. I'm still trying to see if there's a different way of getting to it."

Caroline followed up with another question, but Cam largely tuned her out. Three things had just occurred to her. The first was that the mood in the room was inexplicably grim for a team which had, if they'd failed in their main goal of catching Pelant, succeeded in thwarting his attempt to kill Sweets. The second was that Brennan hadn't said a single word, and the third was that she and Booth weren't making eye contact.

Well, shit.

* * *

It wasn't as easy as it used to be to shut out everything but the work in front of her, and Brennan took it as a personal victory when she finished reassembling the skeleton. A tourist had had an unfortunate encounter with a bear in a national forest, and the family had insisted on a full autopsy and exam. Apparently, they'd have preferred it be murder to stupidity. To her relief, there was no evidence whatsoever of foul play, so it wouldn't be a case for the team.

It troubled her to admit how relieved she was not to have to see Booth any more than necessary now. In theory, things should be the same as they had before her disastrous proposal. After all, nothing had changed in any tangible fashion. They were still sharing a house, still spending time with Christine. They'd eaten breakfast together that morning.

But things were different, and until she could figure out how to get back to that place where they'd been, it was just easier not to spend time with him.

"Brennan."

Startled, she looked up. "Hi, Angela." How long had the other woman been standing there? Brennan was not nearly as alert as she should be.

"Tell me what's going on."

"What do you mean?" It was a play for time. She knew exactly what Angela meant, as she'd seen her giving them sharp looks after the meeting at the bureau. She just didn't know if or how to respond.

"You've barely said 'boo' all day and said less than that at the meeting this morning."

"I didn't have anything to contribute." Pleased that her voice was level, Brennan brought the camera over to take a photo of a scar on the skeleton's humerus. It would be a good example for students of a blow that had damaged the bone but not broken it. "It was mostly a discussion of avenues of investigation the bureau will be pursuing. Unless or until they find something for us to examine, we have nothing to contribute."

Silence.

After a moment, curiosity got the better of her, and Brennan looked up to see Angela staring at her through narrowed eyes.

"Booth and I aren't getting married," she blurted.

Angela's expression sharpened. "Why?"

It wasn't the response Brennan had been expecting, somehow. And now, she didn't know how to answer. Pride – the temptation to say it had been her choice - struggled with desire to understand. And lost. "He changed his mind."

"No. No, he didn't."

Brennan wanted to snap at her in response, but how could she be irritated with Angela for being so sure when she herself was so confused? "He did. He said he didn't think we should do it, that he should have thought about it more. That he wanted it, but I didn't."

"So he doesn't believe you really want to marry him?"

"That's not it. It sounds like it is, but it isn't." She didn't know how to explain her own certainty on that point. "I told him I'd changed my mind, both when I asked him and last night. That I wanted him to be my husband." Opting for frustration over the tears that wanted to come, she added, "If he doesn't believe me, there is nothing I can do."

"What else did he say?"

"That we've been under a lot of pressure. That what we have already is enough."

"He blamed the proposal on Pelant?"

"I don't know. Maybe."

"He didn't say anything else? That's it?"

"I'm not forgetting anything, Angela. I know what he said." Not what it meant, but his words were frozen in her head. "He asked if I was okay, I said yes and went to bed. He slept downstairs."

Angela was frowning. "He wants to marry you. You know that."

"No. I don't know that. I thought I knew that. I was wrong." She drew a breath to collect herself. "I need to finish this analysis. Please leave."

"We'll be discussing this further." On that, Angela turned and left.

With relief, Brennan watched her walk out the door. She could only think about what had happened for a short while before crying, which she refused to do.

* * *

There was no warning. One minute, Cam was buried in the peaceful boredom of time sheets, and the next, she was enveloped in the tornado that was angry Angela.

"In what universe does Booth not want to marry Brennan?"

"What?"

"He broke their engagement."

Cam blinked. That should have explained everything that had been wrong during the meeting that morning. But it didn't come close. "Why?"

Angela paced around in a fast circle, then stopped and glared. "She doesn't know. Something about him not believing that she wants it, only it's not that." She pointed to toward Cam. "You need to fix this. You're the one who has known him forever. If I go, it won't be pretty."

* * *

Back in his car, Sweets took a moment to try and collect himself. He was parked outside the house where Pelant had been living when they first encountered him. Booth had asked him to meet Angela at the property on the chance that he might notice something this time that he'd missed before, while Angela looked for clues to his computer setup.

In terms of the house, they'd both come up dry.

But his ears were still ringing with what she'd unloaded on him, and he could still feel the place in the center of his chest where her finger had drilled in while making her point.

Sweets' parents had been from an older generation, and their influence on him ran deep enough that he didn't swear much. Never had, apart from his requisite teen rebellion. But now?

Shit. Fuck. Damn it all to _hell._

He thunked his head against the headrest. He knew, with absolutely certainty, that Pelant was behind Booth calling off the engagement. He'd _told_ him that Pelant wouldn't react well to the engagement. He'd told him.

His job required him to keep files on the agents, and the ones on Booth were particularly detailed. Pelant, refusing not to be the priority, had struck to cause as much damage as he could to Booth. And thanks to Sweets, he'd known just where to aim: Booth's relationship with Brennan.

Sweets didn't know what to do. He'd dedicated his life to helping people by showing them how to recognize and face the truth about themselves and their world. And that was the one thing he couldn't do here to fix the mess that Pelant had deliberately made. Pelant would have forbidden Booth to tell Brennan the truth – what was the point, otherwise?

Could he tell her? No. He dismissed the thought immediately. Pelant would blame Booth, even if he knew perfectly well that Sweets had been the one to tell her. Could he hint somehow, though?

Best not to risk it.

What were the chances Brennan would figure it out on her own? And what would Pelant be expecting from her, based on Sweets' profile? He closed his eyes, thought about her file. It emphasized her difficulties in processing emotions, both hers and others, and noted that she often retreated behind rationalism as a coping mechanism. Understanding others, particularly those more driven by their emotions, could be difficult for her.

He'd said that. He knew that.

But he'd also said that she put the same amount of effort into understanding those she loved as she did any other intellectual endeavor. She knew Booth, understood Booth, because he mattered to her. She took the time to try and understand him in a way she didn't just everyone.

That meant that there was a good chance that once she got beyond the initial hurt, she'd figure out what had happened, at least to know it would never be Booth's choice not to marry her.

The irony of the situation was that he thought she might well have figured it out faster a year or two earlier, before she traded some of that ability to hide behind rationalism for the greater vulnerability that allowed her to freely love, and be loved by, Booth.

It also meant that she would feel the hurt more now.

Fuck Pelant.

* * *

Jack Hodgins gripped the pistol firmly, sighted the target and fired. Again and again, until there were no more rounds. Then he lowered the gun, stared at the results.

He was getting better - three of the rounds had hit the head area. But the others had gone wide. He didn't want the shoulder, and _really_ didn't want to miss completely and risk hitting a bystander.

He wanted to kill. If he had another opportunity to kill Christopher Pelant, he was going to do so. And he damn sure wasn't going to miss.

In grad school, he'd once entered into a philosophical debate with friends about whether or not they could take a human life, under what circumstances, and how they'd feel about it later. Back then, before Pelant, hell, before Taffett, he'd not been absolutely sure he could kill someone, even to save his own life.

Now? Now he woke up every morning with one single, massive regret: that he'd not killed Christopher Pelant when he'd had the chance, that day in the cemetery. Yeah, he'd have been charged and almost certainly convicted, but whatever it was like to sleep in prison, he doubted it was worse than waking up wondering if there would be a mutilated body above you. Wondering, for that matter, if you _would_ wake up, or if the next time, the gas would kill you, your son, and your wife.

But it wasn't even just about him, about Angie and Michael Vincent. It wasn't about Angela giving up the canopied bed she'd loved so much, knowing neither of them would ever sleep in it again. And remembering how much she'd loved that bed, that really pissed him off.

No, it was the three people Pelant had killed since that moment in the cemetery, two of them FBI agents. Not one of them had deserved to die, and all of their deaths were on his head. Oh, he knew what Sweets would say to that. The same thing Booth had said when Broadsky killed Vincent: Broadsky was solely to blame for the intern's death.

Yeah, he got that. He did. But it didn't change the fact that those people would be alive if Jack had finished killing Pelant when he had the chance.

And then there was the money. He and Angie were fine. If he were honest, the Jack Hodgins who had wanted to be nothing more than an ordinary scientist sort of reveled in knowing he _had_ to get up, _had_ to go to work every day if they wanted to pay the bills.

But so many others had had their lives screwed with over it – jobs lost due to Cantilever's desperate restructuring, scholarships, charities scrambling to make up the loss – the number of people Pelant had harmed in some way was staggering.

Closer to home in the screwed-up-lives department, he was absolutely certain that Pelant was behind Booth calling off his engagement to Brennan. When someone acted that far out of character, you looked first to see if something external was behind it. And Hodgins hadn't had to look far to know that the same man who'd delighted in making him choose a girls' school over a fortune had done the same damn thing to Booth.

He didn't know the details, and hadn't spoken of his beliefs, even to Angela. She was too angry at Booth to see reason on it, anyway, and since whatever else was going on, Pelant had obviously forbidden Booth to tell anyone – including Brennan – Hodgins wouldn't risk saying anything.

But he knew.

Grimly, he reloaded and fired.

* * *

Booth stared into his drink, and wished he could get blind drunk. Drunk enough he wouldn't know where he was, what he was doing, or all that was wrong in his life.

But he couldn't. Drunk, he might do something he couldn't afford to do.

Like tell Brennan why he'd called off the engagement.

So here he sat, nursing the same drink the bartender had put in front of him over an hour ago, putting off going home as long as possible. And that pissed him off even more. He wanted to do all the things he'd come to cherish so much in the past two years.

Like help put his daughter to bed. He'd slipped over to the Jeffersonian daycare to see her that afternoon – and it had felt so wrong to be there without going up to see Brennan – and Christine had looked at him so suspiciously, it was as if she knew something was up.

But he couldn't go home. One look at the hurt on Brennan's face that morning and he'd been three seconds from blurting out the truth, damn the consequences.

He glanced at his watch, figured he had another hour before he could reasonably expect her to be in bed. The night before, he'd worked at his office until eleven o'clock, but there was only so many times he could read over the Pelant file without his eyes crossing.

He was too much a cop not to be aware of every person entering and leaving the bar. So he knew when Cam walked in. Though he thought 'stalked' might be closer to the mark. She didn't hesitate, didn't take the time to observe the rest of the bar patrons. Oh, yeah. Definitely stalking.

"Seeley." She settled next to him, motioning to the bartender for a drink.

"Camille." He didn't look at her. Didn't need to, to know what she was going to say. What the hell was he supposed to say in response?

Ignoring the glass of wine the bartender placed in front of her, Cam turned toward him, giving him all her attention. "Talk to me."

"Can't." He threw back the last of his drink. What the hell, thought, and motioned for a refill.

But the woman next to him had gone too still. "Can't," she murmured after a pause. "Not won't. This wasn't your choice," she said slowly.

"It's none of your business." He put force in the words, desperately trying to communicate something, everything, in the tone. But Pelant must have known they'd ask. Did all those IQ points add up to enough to know it wouldn't do any good to lie to them? Particularly the woman sitting next to him?

"Little prick." It was so quietly muttered, Booth barely heard it. She took a sip of her wine, and then said more loudly, "Actually, when Dr. Brennan is home alone, and you're here, that's very much my business, because it affects my lab." She brought the glass to her lips, and then set it down untouched. "I don't know why you broke the engagement, and I don't care."

_Liar. _

"But I've known you for too long to buy you're not in love with her anymore."

He swallowed the shot, debated his response. Everything was a mine field. "Yeah, so?"

"So you should be showing her that instead of sitting here feeling sorry for yourself while she's home alone."

"Go to hell."

"And join you and Dr. Brennan there? I'll pass." She reached over, laid a finger on his wrist. "Seeley. You have a lifetime to figure out the marriage thing. You don't have that long to fix this."

Maybe it was the bar, maybe it was the booze. But he suddenly heard Cam's voice from years earlier echoing in his head. "_If you crack that shell and then change your mind, she'll die of loneliness before she'll ever trust anyone again_." Something cold ran down his spine. "I didn't change my mind, damn it," he muttered, then wondered if there was a microphone nearby, if Pelant had heard him. This was why he shouldn't be drinking.

"Whatever else is going on, find a way to let her know you still love her." Cam finished her wine and stood. Then, under the guise of leaning over to pick up her handbag, she whispered, "Don't you dare let that bastard win this one."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Brennan stared at the coffee machine, watching the dark liquid stream into the pot and listening to the noises Christine was making in her high chair. They were both up earlier than usual.

She was finding it difficult to sleep without Booth in their bed, and had finally stopped trying and gotten up, only to find Christine awake as well. Sweets would probably say the toddler was reacting to the tension around her.

Sleeping alone brought back memories of when she'd been on the run with the baby the year before. They'd come through that, or she'd believed they had. But this? She didn't even know what 'it' was. Marriage was important to him, so if he didn't want to marry her, was there any other conclusion to be reached than that he didn't love her? Or not enough to make a lifetime commitment to her, at least. She swallowed, looked over at her daughter. "He's a good man, Christine. You must never doubt his love for you, even if" – when? "the two of us separate."

At a noise, she turned, saw Booth rounding the corner into the kitchen. Had he heard her words? Did it matter? She stiffened her spine. No, it didn't. She'd only spoken the truth. He slowed, and then continued toward her, and she stepped out of the way of the coffee pot. But instead of reaching for a mug, he stopped in front of her, and they stared at each other. He looked tired, too, and there was something else in his eyes, something she didn't begin to understand.

Before she could ask, he jerked her to him and kissed her, a hard, angry, kiss that she couldn't help but respond to. Then he released her, stepped back, and stalked out.

More confused than ever, and not a little angry, Brennan watched him go. What was that about? If he was angry at her for some reason, why didn't he just say so?

* * *

Booth left the house and just drove, too wound up to go directly to his office. That punishing kiss he'd laid on Brennan probably wasn't what Cam had had in mind when she'd told him to find a way to let his partner know he still loved her. But his frustration – and fear – had erupted when he heard her words to Christine.

They would not split up. They would not.

He exited the interstate onto a familiar road in Virginia, figuring he might as well get some target practice in. He used several different shooting ranges, each providing different environmental challenges. This one, owned by a former army buddy, was technically no longer in business. Tom had retired and closed it, but Booth and a few other friends still stopped by.

The lone car in the lot didn't belong to any of his other army friends, though. The red Mini Cooper was unmistakable, and Booth frowned at it. What the hell was Jack Hodgins doing here?

He walked through the gate and around a wooden partition right as Hodgins fired the small pistol he'd been reloading. One shot went dead center of the target, but the others went wide of the mark.

Hoping he wouldn't be shot by mistake due to startling the other man, Booth walked over to him. "It takes a lot of practice to be able to compensate for wind."

Hodgins glanced ruefully at the mostly empty target sheet. "You told Sweets that one time, and that you come out here to practice because it's on a breezy hill." He reloaded, and then looked at Booth. "The next time he threatens my family, he won't walk away."

Booth nodded. "Your phone?"

"In the car, turned off. You?"

"Yeah. No mikes or cameras out here." He pulled his own weapon from his holster, checked it.

"I get why you can't just kill him," Hodgins blurted. "I do. You have one hell of a complicated past. But how many more people are going to die while we try to figure out how to catch him and put him away for good?"

In answer, Booth took aim, emptied his clip. Every round nailed the center of the target.

* * *

He was so frustrated by the lack of progress that Booth was one short step from driving around the city just _looking_ for Pelant.

Or daring Pelant. Maybe it was the same thing.

"Sir?"

Shaw was standing in his door, and something about her expression had him standing up. She'd found something. "Come in, Shaw."

She walked over to his desk, handed him a piece of paper. "We've gone over the police reports again from the day of the Serberus raid, and there's still no record of a man meeting Pelant's description showing up at any clinics or hospitals. I'm sorry, sir."

Her tone belied the satisfaction he saw on her face, and he glanced down at the paper_. Dead veterinarian in Maryland,_ he read. _Local cops thought it was about drugs_. Below was the name of the detective who'd handled the case.

He met her eyes, nodded. "We know he went somewhere, but maybe he didn't get any assistance. Check drug stores for robberies, and check everywhere that offers any kind of medical care. Those clinics that do scans."

"Yes, sir."

* * *

Booth beat back impatience. As much as he wanted to reach across the desk and strangle, or at least shake, the detective sitting on the other side, he knew doing so would do more harm than good. He had no jurisdiction here; she had no reason to trust him. And given what he was telling her, the less like a lunatic he acted, the faster he'd get what he wanted.

Detective Allanson was in her mid-forties, he estimated, not unattractive but no-nonsense. She reminded him of Caroline, a bit, actually, or Caroline as she would be if she were five foot two with blonde hair and sharp green eyes.

"Agent Booth, you're telling me that you believe the individual who attacked the dead veterinarian I have on my murder board is in fact a serial killer?"

"Yes."

"One who doesn't serially kill vets, I take it."

"Not in the normal course of things. Look, Christopher Pelant – a name you will not find in any database, by the way – is a genius programmer who is targeting my team-"

"-of equally genius scientists. Yeah. You said that already. You still haven't explained how my dead vet fits with that."

Booth resisted, barely, grinding his teeth. "Most of the victims have been targeted in advance, their deaths part of an elaborate game he's playing. The vet wasn't. Pelant was shot, and looking for something specific."

"There was no indication Dr. Ramsone provided any kind of care to the person who killed him. He died by the door where he was apparently surprised."

"Maybe it wasn't treatment he was after."

"How do you know he was shot?"

He wanted to say, _because I shot him, and I don't miss_. But best to keep it simple. "He told me so, in one of our last conversations."

"So, wounded, he broke into a vet's office, killed the vet, and did…what?"

"You tell me. Were any drugs missing? What about other medical supplies?" Something flickered in her eyes, and he pressed on. "He's too smart to have gone to a hospital or clinic, though we've checked them out. Tell me about your scene."

Allanson hesitated, and Booth said, "Look, what do you have to lose? You said yourself that you've not made any headway with the case."

She blew out a breath. "Good point. Our coroner says it looks like our victim took a blow to the head with something heavy – a tire iron was his best guess – and then his throat was slit with a small knife of some kind. The place was cleaned out of drugs, even drugs that there's no market for, because they don't work on humans. And yes, bandages, needles, tape…all were also taken. The operating theory has been that an addict broke in, not expecting anyone to be there, killed Ramsone and then panicked and cleaned the place out."

"Do you believe that?" He tried to keep his tone neutral.

"Not really. But as theories go, it makes as much sense as asking me to believe that a deranged serial killer, wounded in a shootout with you in DC, made his way, bleeding, to our vet's office, where he killed a man and then, what, stitched himself back together?"

She had a point. "Did you find two sets of DNA at the scene?"

"Do you know what the backlog is at the Maryland state crime lab? I'm still waiting for the DNA results."

"I can help you with that."

Her eyes narrowed. "Your genius scientists?"

"Anything you give me will be their top priority. X-rays, autopsy reports, DNA…"

"And if it's not your serial killer?"

"Then you'll have had the best forensic scientists in the country look at your case, and get your DNA results back before you retire. No charge."

She gave him a measured look. "Deal, Agent Booth. I want to catch this guy, crazed serial killer or not."

The hard part was convincing them to delay recording that he'd taken possession of the evidence in the computer. When Booth finally pulled out of the parking lot – the tote beside him – he still wasn't certain the tech wasn't conscientiously typing in the details right that moment, where Pelant could see it.

Mindful of how Ezra Krane's remains had been lost to them, Booth could have pushed harder on that point, but he already sounded like a paranoid lunatic, so he'd cut his losses. His sidearm was loose in his holster, and they'd only take the tote when it was empty and he was dead.

He would never again make fun of Jack Hodgins' paranoid conspiracy theories, though.

* * *

Carrying the tote, Booth stepped into the lab. He saw techs and interns, but none of the scientists on his team. Reflecting that that might be a good thing where Angela was concerned, he went to Cam's office.

At her questioning look, he set the box down on her table, and handed her the form to sign indicating receipt of it. While he wasn't in a hurry to document it on the computer, they'd still do everything as much by the book as possible.

"What is it?" Cam opened the tote, looked inside.

"Autopsy report, x-rays, fingerprints and blood found at a veterinarian's office the morning after the raid on Serberus. Vet's throat was slit."

"Pelant."

"Maybe. Enough doesn't add up that it's worth looking at. Local cop sent the DNA to the state crime lab, but it hasn't come back yet."

A large envelope was on top. Cam opened it and pulled out crime scene photos. "Shoe print? They were thorough, I'll give them that. I'll have Hodgins work on that when he gets back."

"Where is he?"

"Meeting with Cantilever lawyers. The estate sold a while back, and they're trying to figure out what to do with the money. Most of it's going back into the company – via some complicated system I don't understand, since the house was his personal property – but he wants some of it to go to the guy who took care of the property, oversaw the maintenance on the house."

"Ah."

Cam compared the receipt with the contents before signing it and passing it to him. "I'll let you know what we find." She pulled gloves on and went to work.

Booth walked out, slowed. Should he stop and say hello to Brennan? Cursing Pelant that he was even asking the question, he started toward the bone room, only to see her through the doors of her office, sitting at her desk.

Even from where he was standing, there was a stillness about her that made him think she was only staring at the monitor, not reading it. She looked …beautiful. Tired. And so damn sad, his heart broke into bits.

He was to the door before she finally looked up, and it was as if someone flipped a switch, the sadness replaced by wariness. Did she really think he didn't know how hurt she was?

"Booth. Is everything all right? Christine-"

"She's fine, Bones." She couldn't imagine any other reason he'd come to see her now? "I stopped by to drop off some evidence."

"Oh, I see."

Disappointment flickered in her eyes, and he cursed himself. "I'm pretty sure we found where Pelant went after I shot him."

She stood and came around the desk. "Cam will probably require my assistance, then."

"Yeah. Pelant…dead body, so there's x-rays." They stood there for an awkward moment, looking at one another, and then he said, "I'll let you get to it. I think I'm going to go say hi to Christine, then head back to the bureau."

She hesitated. "Perhaps I should come with you. Show her that we are a unified front where she's concerned."

"Bones…" he couldn't help it. He reached out, cupped her cheek. "We _are_ a unit." _Trust me. Oh, God, please trust me, just for a little while._

Her eyes were impossibly blue, and so confused. She stared at him for a heartbeat, then another, before she pulled away, and nodded. "I'll go get started on those x-rays."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Sweets had successfully managed to avoid Dr. Brennan for two days before she finally caught up with him in the bureau garage where he was having a late lunch in his car. He'd told himself his choice of location was due to a busy schedule, not because he was avoiding the woman even now standing by his passenger door.

He'd be lying. But what was he supposed to say to her if she asked what was going on with Booth, or asked for advice? What was safe?

"I believe it's generally regarded as emotionally unhealthy not to take proper breaks from work through the day whenever possible," she said as she settled into the passenger seat.

Yeah, she was a fine one to talk. He was pretty sure she didn't take lunch breaks at all unless someone – Booth, Angela, Cam – made her. Or hadn't before Christine, at least.

He swallowed the last of his PB&J – he wasn't hungry much himself, these days – and asked, "What can I do for you, Dr. Brennan?"

Without hesitating, she jumped right in. "I need to know what to do about Booth."

Shit. "Do?"

"I don't know what his behavior means, so I don't know how to respond."

"His behavior?"

For the first time, she looked away, seemed to gather herself before meeting his eyes again. "Breaking our engagement. I need to know if the best thing for all of us is for us to separate." She swallowed. "Or if we've already done so, and I'm unaware of that fact."

"Did he say anything to suggest that?"

She shook her head. "No. He said what we have is enough. But he would not want to hurt me more than he had to." Her voice faltered. "He would be careful about how he ended a relationship."

Sweets was pretty sure that Booth hadn't been overly worried about hurting Hannah the night they broke up, but he didn't say so. "Dr. Brennan, Agent Booth has not confided in me since he broke your engagement." There. That was true, and hopefully safe enough not to trigger Pelant. "So I can't tell you exactly what it means."

She cleared her throat, and reached for the door "I see," she said quietly. "I'm sorry for disturbing your lunch, then."

He was sure he'd seen tears in her eyes before he turned from him. Screw Pelant. "But there is a question I think you should ask yourself."

"Yes?"

"Does he seem happy with things as they now are? Is he at peace since calling it off?"

She went still for a moment, absorbing the implications of what he'd said. Then she opened the door, climbed out. "I will consider that. Thank you."

He watched her walk away, and could only hope no one died because he'd said it.

* * *

Naked purple elephants with pink spots could have been dancing across his monitor, and Booth wouldn't have noticed. He had some of the puzzle, but key pieces were missing, namely Pelant. Nothing they did would make a difference until they found the bastard.

Movement at his door caught his eye and he looked up as Caroline stepped in. "I heard Pelant's grandfather was here."

"Yeah. It wasn't a long conversation. He didn't have much to give us." He scribbled on a note, 'gave us DNA sample' and handed it to her.

Caroline's eyebrows shot up when she read it, but she nodded. "Where is he now?"

"On his way home. He's got two agents who are going to keep an eye on him, but at this point, I'm hoping there's no danger to him. He didn't really give us anything, and Pelant doesn't usually go for the direct battle."

"He's going to get one if he's not careful. Homeland Security's figured out that he was the one who screwed up the traffic that day, and they're not impressed with his trick. And that's not his only problem. He made Serberus look bad by stealing that missile and nearly killing those girls. And if those squints of yours hadn't figured out what was going on that day and stopped it, we'd have a big diplomatic mess on our hands, if not another war. So Pelant's got Homeland Security, seriously pissed off mercenaries, and the state department all after him."

"You're worried about him?"

"Hell, no. You know me better than that. I'm worried about the collateral damage. None of those groups are known for their subtlety or concern for innocent bystanders when they take out bad guys."

The words were standard Caroline, as was the tone. But she was looking at him with an intensity that made him sit back in his chair. "Are you asking me to do what it sounds like you're asking me to do?"

She held his expression. "Stop him, before anyone else dies. I don't care how you do it." Her tone softened. "We do what we have to do, chere."

"Yeah, we do."

Booth watched her leave, wondering what Pelant was making of the conversation. Caroline had clearly wanted him to hear all of it.

* * *

Something was wrong with Booth. Brennan had been too distracted to pay sufficient attention to Booth, but now that Sweets had shifted her focus, she could see that he was unwell. The opposite of at peace, as Sweets had worded it.

Exhaustion, fury, sadness – even grief, perhaps, though she couldn't imagine what would be grieving him.

He was at the front of the bureau storage room, waiting for everyone to take a seat, but instead of interacting with anyone, he was leaning against the wall and staring at the floor in front of him as if the answers to all their questions were written there.

Flynn entered and closed the door, and Booth finally looked up, obviously taking a quick head count. "Where's Hodgins?"

"He had a lunch meeting he couldn't avoid," Cam said after a glance at Angela, who had apparently opted for giving Booth the silent treatment. "He'll be here shortly."

Booth nodded, and then said, "Detective Allanson called me. The body of one of their clerks was found this morning. She was strangled with crime scene tape, and her fingers had been cut off."

"Pelant?" Sparling asked.

"They're sending the remains to the lab, but it's hard not to jump to that conclusion."

"I'm going to go out on a limb and guess that this was the clerk who entered the details of the vet's death into the system," Cam said.

"He wants us to know he's watching and can strike at any time, " Sweets said.

"I'll be heading out after we finish here to survey the scene. Meanwhile, Pelant's grandfather came in this morning. He didn't have anything new to tell us, but he gave us a sample of his DNA. Cam tells me that since he's the paternal grandfather, there's a test that will prove that link if it's Pelant's DNA on the lab coat the veterinarian was wearing."

"We've got him, then," Flynn said. "If he killed the vet, we'll be able to prove it's a relative of the man who was in here earlier, no matter what the name is."

"How many times?" Angela's voice was sharp.

Brennan turned toward her. "How many times what?"

"I've been researching exactly how he wiped out his Pelant identity so fast, particularly since there's no record of anyone giving him access to a computer after we arrested him. It's essentially a worm, one that activates on a pre-determined schedule unless he tells it not to, wiping out his current identity and creating a new one."

"He doesn't need a computer," Sweets said.

"No. All he needs is a good memory, so he can remember what identity comes next. There's no telling how many of them he has set up. Wiping out his real identity – Pelant – would have been the hardest one, because it was real. More documents to find and destroy. His fake ones? Ridiculously easy for this program. It's out there on the PCs of people who forgot to update their antivirus programs, and when a certain amount of time passes, it activates. Hacks into wherever it needs to go to delete the former identity and create a new one – government databases, credit bureaus, colleges."

"Every few days?" Flynn asked.

"I don't know how frequent it is, and it might not a regular pattern. But if he's arrested, I'm assuming he'd want it to activate sooner rather than later."

For about five seconds, no one said anything at all. "Then we'll never make it to trial with him," Booth said.

"Not even with the DNA. Especially since he'll no doubt wipe out the DNA results as well, so we'll have to start over with the tests."

Caroline spoke up. "Even if we can convince a judge to hold him while you prove the DNA matches the current ID, the fact that the next time they look, there won't be anyone with that ID in the system and we'll have to start over will be a problem. That happens more than once, we'll lose all credibility."

Something subtle shifted in Booth's demeanor. For just a moment, his shoulders seemed to sag, as if a weight was settling on them. And then he straightened, looked around at them before his glance settled on Brennan. It almost seemed as if he was asking her for something, but she didn't know what.

The door opened, and Hodgins came in. He was out of breath, and was wearing the expression Brennan had heard Angela describe as his mad scientist look.

"I know where Pelant is," he blurted.

Booth found his voice first, and something in his tone caused goose bumps to rise on Brennan's arms. "Where?"

"He bought my estate. I was having lunch with the guy who took care of the property for us, and he was complaining about the new owner. He met him the last day Rob was there. He described him as 'creepy, late twenties, with a disfigured face, some sort of computer nerd.' It struck me, and I asked him for more details…it's Pelant."

"It makes sense," Sweets said slowly. "He would see that as a win over you."

Flynn looked at Booth. "Tac team?"

Hodgins shook his head. "Getting through the gate and down the drive will give him too much of a head start. I'd bet all the money he stole that he'll have something in place to defend himself, and going in direct will give him time to trigger it. I have a better idea. There's a tunnel he doesn't know anything about."

"This is Pelant," Booth said dryly. "Why wouldn't he know about it? And what kind of tunnel?"

"Escape tunnel. The house was built just before the Civil War broke out, and my great-however-many-times-removed grandfather wanted a way to escape, should the house come under attack. It's not on the blue prints. Any of them. Even during a remodel I did ten years or so ago, I left it off. I liked knowing it was there and that no one else knew about it. Call it paranoia, but it's useful now," he pointed out.

Booth frowned. "He might have found it."

"Unlikely. It begins outside the property, and looks like a standard utilities access point. It ends behind some shelving in a sub-basement. The only way he'd have found it is if he went along every wall in the entire building, looking for something that might be a secret room."

"It's a really big house," Angela said.

Booth exchanged a long look with Caroline – he'd not looked at Brennan since Hodgins burst in – and then he said, "Hodgins and I will go. Flynn, I need you and Wilson to go to Maryland and see Det. Allanson, process the scene where her clerk was found. Think of a good reason for me not to be there. Shaw, you and Sparling find a way to provide security for Hodgins' caretaker, hopefully without tipping off Pelant."

Hodgins' face went white. "I should have thought of that."

"You would have at some point, but given the clerk, we're not taking any chances. We can't stop him from killing innocent strangers, but we can at least identify the more obvious targets."

_We can't stop him from killing innocent strangers… _His tone seemed odd to Brennan, especially intense, when he said that phrase. Discussion broke out around her, including both Flynn and Angela arguing with Booth about going into the house with just Hodgins. But she ignored it, her mind making connections that she should have made sooner.

A little over two weeks before breaking the engagement, Booth had commented on how lucky he was to have her in his life; shortly before that, he'd been foolishly emotional over her catching the bouquet at his mother's wedding. Many, many recent moments, from his looking for her in the middle of the night because he missed her, to his not seeing her the way so many others did, flawed and cold, proved his love for her.

Yes, love sometimes failed, the chemical basis for it breaking apart. But it didn't happen overnight.

It made no sense for Booth to have gone from clearly still wanting her to propose to him while wearing that ridiculous lampshade his mother had sent to not wanting to marry her the same week. It made even less sense for him to have gone from the happiness he'd displayed when she proposed to breaking it off a day later.

They'd been in the park, with Christine, planning the ceremony. And then Marianne had called, and...he'd been quiet after that. Not much to say, nothing about how his mother was doing beyond generalities.

Pelant. Rage rose up, and she ruthlessly shut it down. The phone call hadn't been from Marianne at all. Pelant had forced him to break off the engagement. _We can't stop him from killing innocent strangers…_ Oh, Booth.

The room had mostly emptied, though she could hear Angela and Hodgins by the door having a fierce argument, and Caroline seemed to be finishing a conversation with Booth. She gave Brennan a sharp look as she walked out.

Booth was just watching her, a closed look on his face. But when she approached him, he went to leave. "I've got a lot to do before tonight, Bones. And they'll be bringing the clerk's remains to the lab."

She ignored his words, stepped in front of him so he couldn't leave. He started to speak again, and she placed her finger over his mouth. "When I walk out of this room, nothing will have changed. But you need to know I will not allow him to take you from me." And then she kissed him.

After being in a sexual relationship with him for over two years, she knew exactly how to do so in a way that would disrupt every thought process – for both of them – except that of being with each other. He resisted for a few seconds, his arms remaining at his sides, before he yanked her to him with a growl and desperately kissed her back.

If Angela and Hodgins were watching instead of arguing, they were getting one hell of a show, to use the colloquialism. But Brennan didn't care, and she was pretty sure Booth didn't, either.

They were both out of breath when they broke apart, though his arms were still hard around her. "Bones," he said raggedly. "he'll kill people."

For just a moment, she stood there, reveled in the feeling of holding him in such a way, of the unmistakable evidence that he still wanted her. And then she sighed, and pulled away, enough to look at him, to see both the relief and fear in his eyes. "He won't know." She placed her hands on his cheeks. "I don't blame you for not telling me. But if he doesn't know me well enough to know I'd eventually figure it out, then that is a failure on his part."

He rested his forehead against hers. "This ends tonight. That clerk is going to be his last victim."

_What about you_, she wanted to ask. _What toll will this take on you? _Instead, she kissed him again, a brush of lips. "Yes. And then we'll go from there." She stepped back from him. "I'll return to the lab now."

"Be careful."

"I should say the same thing to you." After another long look, she turned and walked out.

* * *

Booth worked in his office until dusk. He filed a preliminary report on the Maryland clerk, noted that they believed it was Pelant. Documented the DNA results from the veterinarian's lab coat – they couldn't match it to anyone in the system, but he included his own opinion about it being Pelant.

He _didn't_ file the report that Cam had sent to him via Flynn, that the grandfather's DNA matched as a direct male ancestor to the sample from the vet's coat. There wouldn't be an official trail showing that his grandfather had given them the DNA until it was absolutely necessary.

If it was necessary. Increasingly, it was looking like it wouldn't be.

He was trying not to think about what had happened between him and Brennan, beyond relief that she was no longer believing a lie. But fear that Pelant would figure it out and retaliate was a living, breathing thing inside him.

He had a job to do, and he couldn't let it be about him. About them. It had to be about Carole Morrisey, and the Maryland clerk – a woman in her mid-forties named Georgia Maynard – and everyone in between.

And the ones who would die next if Pelant wasn't stopped.

Hodgins appeared in his office door, dressed in black jeans and a black t-shirt. "You ready, dude?"

His expression was grim, causing Booth to acknowledge that while the greatest losses had been the human lives Pelant had snuffed out on a barely more than whim, that there had been other losses, other sacrifices. Jack Hodgins had been driving Booth nuts for years with his goofy experiments and paranoid conspiracy theories, but he'd take that man any day over the one standing before him…darker, grimmer, and prepared to kill.

"Yeah. Let's go."

* * *

The manhole, covered in brush, was in a group of trees on the edge of a park a half block from the edge of the property. They'd parked at the other end of the park and moved along in the trees, as much not to be seen by patrolling cops as anything. Wouldn't that be fun to explain?

As Hodgins cleared the brush aside to open it, Booth couldn't help but wonder why the utility company hadn't found it by now. Putting the thought away, he followed Hodgins down the ladder.

Hodgins had known both the area and the entrance to the tunnel well enough that they'd gotten by with only a small pen light until Booth closed the cover and they were on the ladder. Then Hodgins brought out a bigger light that allowed them to see on their descent to the floor and start toward the house.

It was a damn good thing he wasn't claustrophobic, Booth thought. He kept his head angled down to make sure he didn't hit it on the ceiling, and he could feel the walls brushing his arm from time to time. Despite the flashlight, the dark was oppressive, and at one point, he was convinced he heard something behind them. Hodgins didn't react, though, so either Booth was imagining it, or he'd identified it as an animal.

They finally came to a heavy metal door. Hodgins handed Booth the light, then motioned him to stand back. He obeyed, and the other man pulled open the door, which swung surprisingly smoothly to be as old as it was. On the other side were metal shelves, empty but for dirt and marks of where tools had once been laid on them. Hodgins gave one of the shelves a light push, and the unit moved, swinging out into the room.

They went through the opening, and then paused, listening. For a moment, Booth thought he heard that noise again, but when the silence fell once more, he was sure he'd imagined it.

Hodgins began to move, and Booth followed him through two more empty rooms that were more dirt cellar than anything before they finally came out into a finished part of the basement, and then to a utility area where the electric panel was. Hodgins went to it, and examined it. "He hasn't made any changes here," he said softly. "I had some of this re-wired when Angela moved in, to make certain it would adequately support her servers." He tapped a circuit breaker. "Given that, I'd almost bet that when I trip this, he'll lose power to his toys. He'll have backup UPSs, of course, but he'll come down to check it out."

"Do it."

Hodgins took a breath, and then flipped the breaker.

Booth motioned behind them, and they stepped back into the next room, the one they'd come through to reach the panel. From the shadows there, they could see the electrical panel and the door that led into upstairs. Perhaps ten seconds went by, and then they heard an unmistakable noise, but it was coming from behind them, not the door Pelant would come through when he came down to check the breakers. They frowned at each other in the dim light cast by the pen light.

"I'll go check it out," Hodgins mouthed.

Booth hesitated, and then nodded. The other man melted into the darkness, and he turned, once more watching the door, his weapon ready.

Footsteps, neither overly cautious nor rushed, on the stairs warned him someone was coming, and Booth switched off the small light he'd turned on when Hodgins left. The door opened, and Christopher Pelant stepped into the utility room, snapping on the overhead as he did so and flooding the room with light.

Dispassionately, Booth watched him from the shadows, noting the horrific disfigurement on the younger man's face. He waited until Pelant was at the panel, then he stepped forward, out of the shadows.

Pelant jumped and spun around, and there was something satisfying about knowing he'd startled him, but Booth had to give him credit for a quick recovery.

"Agent Booth. I had given up on you finding me."

The scars made the innocent smile much creepier, Booth thought. "Miscalculation on your part."

"It was. I shouldn't have doubted you. But you have been …distracted lately, I think."

"Have I?"

"I know it was difficult for you to call off your engagement, but our game must remain a priority."

"You have my undivided attention."

"I see that." Pelant motioned to the gun. "Are you going to arrest me again? Or execute me?" He looked thoughtful. "It's a dilemma, isn't it? If you shoot me, you'll be violating your own moral code – this isn't a sniper situation, and no one's in immediate jeopardy." He smiled. "Well, no one that you know of, at least. But if you arrest me…well, look how well that turned out the last time. I win, Agent Booth, either way."

He reached into his pocket, and raised an eyebrow when Booth didn't react. "Trusting, aren't you? You don't know what I'm pulling out." He held up what looked like a remote for a car. "Shall I tell you what this is? Or let you find out later?"

Better to know, if Pelant was willing to talk. "What is it?"

"It's a remote. Anyone home at your house? I know Dr. Brennan hasn't moved out, so perhaps she's there, with your little girl? Or maybe the estimable doctor is at the lab and Christine is with Max, your conman father-in-law? Oh, wait…there's not going to be a wedding, is there?"

Booth watched him, looking for any telltale twitch that should signal he was getting ready to detonate whatever it was. "There's no one home." It was true, and he was grateful. Brennan was at the lab, waiting with the others, and while Christine was with Max, they weren't at the house.

Pelant tossed the remote into the air, catching it with a deft flick of the wrist. "So what's it going to be? Do you kill me, and I win, because the best crime fighting team – in, well, DC, at least - couldn't figure out another way to stop me? And you, good man that you are, spend the rest of your life carrying the weight for that choice? Or do you arrest me, and I win, because you'll never be able to hold me? What's it going to be? Which victory is mine?"

Booth stared at his adversary thoughtfully, his mind running quickly through all the things Pelant been wrong about thus far – including how quickly Brennan would figure out why he'd called off the engagement. "You think you know us, that you know me. Know what I'll do, what I'll feel. You don't."

"Oh, but I do, Agent Booth, and I win, either way."

"No, you really don't." Booth aimed and fired, watched Pelant fly backwards into the wall behind him. He'd shot him dead center of the forehead, so there was no chance he wasn't dead, but he still went over, crouched, felt for a pulse. There was none, and he sighed as he stood and holstered his weapon. He looked down at the wasted life on the floor, the squandered potential. "Nobody won."

At a noise behind him, he turned and saw both Hodgins and Brennan standing there. Hodgins said, "I'll go call for the team." He stopped next to Pelant and said quietly, "there was a time when seeing a man shot like that would have been horrifying." He looked up, met Booth's eyes. "That was before I woke up to a corpse above my bed. This was the only way to stop him." He turned and went upstairs.

Booth turned back to Brennan. "You were the noise I heard in the tunnel."

She shrugged. "I was never going to let you come alone, so I saved us the trouble of an argument."

He went to her, took her hands, and said what he'd been unable to say in the storage room. "I won't blame you if you don't want to marry me after all this. But you need to know, Bones, that there will never be anyone else for me. I love you, I always will."

"I love you, too. And we have a wedding to plan." She glanced past him, to the body on the floor. "Soon would work for me."

He pulled her to him, rested his head on her shoulder. "Me, too."

* * *

Much, much later, Booth sat with Brennan at a table in the back of The Founding Fathers. She was worried about him, and he didn't know what to say to reassure her. He didn't know himself how he was, really.

"It's always been cut and dried before," he finally said. "Either I had direct orders from someone in the chain of command, or someone else's life was in immediate danger. There shouldn't be a gray area in taking a life, and there was here." He wouldn't pretend otherwise on that point. "Maybe Angela and Caroline were wrong, maybe with the DNA, we could have found a way of holding him, convicting him. But how many more lives should we have risked?" He didn't tell her what Caroline had told him about Homeland Security and Serberus. That was her story to tell, if she chose to.

His phone buzzed, and he answered. "Booth." He listened for a moment, and then said, "That's it? Everything else is clear? Good to know. Thanks, Caroline." He disconnected, and looked at Brennan. "Bomb techs found the bomb. It was in the alarm clock next to our bed. It could have gone off any time he wanted it to."

"They're sure that's the only one?"

"Yeah, they're sure." He tossed back his drink. "Look, I don't know how I'll feel about it later. I don't know if I'll spend the rest of my life wondering if there was another way. But I'll sleep tonight."

Brennan said, "A lot of people will. And many others will be safer and live full lives because you were willing to do what had to be done." She reached over and took his hand, threading her fingers through his.

"He can't hurt anyone else. He can't kill anyone else simply because they were in his way, or to score a point against us. That matters."

"It does matter." She frowned, thinking it through. "Maybe it's all that matters. We arrested him once. Stopped him that way, and it wasn't enough. Hodgins is right. This was the only way to guarantee no one else would die. And stopping him, one way or the other…that matters."

He stood, pulled her to her feet. "And maybe it's not the only thing, Bones. We're going to go home, make love, get married, raise Christine, have a life. And so are all the other people he didn't have a chance a kill."

"Well, except for raising Christine. Only we'll be doing that."

He laughed, and kissed her. It felt damn good to do both.

* * *

Thanks for reading! Only a few days now, and our show returns! Big yay!


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